


Perfect

by Teland



Category: due South
Genre: Angst, Communication Failure, Dubious Consent, M/M, Masturbation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1999-09-03
Updated: 1999-09-03
Packaged: 2020-12-31 20:33:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21151802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Teland/pseuds/Teland
Summary: One night in a hotel room.





	Perfect

**Author's Note:**

> clothes make the man, but they make you more of a martyr  
then i look at you and i see something else that i'm after  
\-- some "really, really old 80's song," as quoted by torch

Te: In other dreams, Fraser and Ray   
wound up in Vegas for some reason.  
Dawn Sharon: Because all good American dreams  
visit Vegas sooner or later.   
Te: Hee! I supposed it just *had* to   
happen.  
Te: Tipsy Ray does his sleepy damnedest  
to seduce Fraser. Poker chips are scattered,   
something is glittering in the distance, Ray is   
wearing suspenders for once...  
Dawn Sharon: *swooning happily*  
Te: Ray is plucking at the buttons of   
Fraser's tuxedo shirt, swaying on his feet.  
Te: Fraser is not stopping him, not   
doing much of anything. Sort of *lurking* behind   
his own eyes, but Ray doesn't see, is all unwitting.  
Dawn Sharon: *whimper whimper whimper* and  
oooh, yeah, that's what Fraser would be doing,   
and even sober Ray would just be noticing that he  
wasn't stopping him...  
Te: "See, I think we shoulda done this   
weeks ago. Months.

"The sex thing, that is. I think you're... you've been   
in my dreams, Frase. Hot dreams. Do you dream?"

Ray's hand finally got in past the buttons, splayed   
itself across the warm and slightly damp expanse   
of t-shirt. 

"Fraser, please..."

"Please what, Ray?"

So calm, even. Ray shuddered, stilled his hand but   
didn't take it back. "Do you dream?"

"Ray --"

"It's a yes or no question, Frase. No Rays about it.   
Do you *dream*?"

"Everyone dreams. There are five accepted stages   
of sleep -- many cultures would dispute that,   
but --"

"Oh, Christ, why can't you just stop me?"

"REM -- Rapid Eye Movement -- REM sleep is where  
our dreams take place, and dreams are thought to  
be, in some schools of thought, nothing but the   
subconscious' method of *thinking*, of putting   
together the day's input..."

Ray wasn't sure what he was feeling. The stunned   
sort of disbelief had dampened his arousal, the   
pain... the pain. He started laughing. Fraser kept  
talking and Ray laughed and laughed.

And then he ripped the other man's shirt open,   
nearly bit his own lip at the sound of rich cloth   
tearing. And breathed. 

And did not look into Fraser's eyes.

"Say no."

"I..."

"Say no."

"Ray, we can --"

Ray ripped the t-shirt untucked and dipped his head  
until he could circle one not-dark-enough nipple   
with his tongue.

The muscle just beneath the hot, creamy skin   
jumped and twitched but Fraser was silent. Ray   
pressed closer, pressed a kiss to and around the   
hardening little peak and sucked.

Quiet gasp and he wasn't sure what game he was  
playing but... was there a point, here? Should he   
stop?

Ray compromised himself, for himself, bit down   
gently and then tore himself away before he   
could see what sort of reaction that triggered. 

"Say no, Fraser. I'll stop if you say no."

And this time he forced himself to look directly   
into wide blue eyes and wait. To watch the flush  
creep over the perfect skin. Fraser was angry,   
but so still...

"Say no or tell me what you want."

And it seemed magnanimous to his own ears,   
terribly reasonable. The sort of moment that -- at   
any other time -- Ray would use to look over at   
his partner, his friend, and carefully not say 'see   
how good I am?'

"Why are you doing this?"

Ray barked another laugh. "I thought that was   
pretty obvious, there, Frase."

"It's not sex anymore."

"Don't fucking kid yourself --"

"Can you honestly tell me you don't want to hurt   
me right now?"

Ray stepped close and... stood. Breathed the other   
man's air. Felt himself shaking and wanted to...   
wanted to... "Fraser, I *need* you."

And that wasn't what he wanted to say, not at all,   
but it was out and he met the other man's eyes   
again. And waited. 

"It can often be difficult to discern the difference   
between want and need."

"You're priceless. Absolutely priceless."

"Ray, I'm being serious --"

"I *know* you're being fucking serious you   
*god*damn *prick*."

"There's no need to resort to --"

Ray cut Fraser off by palming his cock through   
the expensive twill. "Yeah, Frase, I want to hurt   
you."

Dry swallow. "That's not the best foundation for   
a relationship, Ray."

"No, it isn't. But you're rock hard, and you're full   
of shit, and you can't even say *no* --"

"No."

"Too late." And Ray dove in for a kiss and Fraser   
didn't move, didn't breathe, didn't respond... so   
Ray just breathed through his nose and kept   
kissing. Began a short, unsubtle rocking motion   
with his hand.

Pressed himself closer and licked at the roof of   
the other man's mouth, creating what he knew   
would be a maddening, tickling itch. Still no   
motion, but... it wasn't OK. It wasn't OK but it   
was what he was getting so it would fucking   
well *be* OK.

From Fraser, nothing. 

Creep of something dark, nasty in his belly.   
Sexual harassment. Rape. Necro-lite.

Heh.

In his own time, Ray broke the kiss with a wet,   
messy smacking noise. Kept working his hand   
at the thickness just two layers of cloth away.   
Hot, definitely hot under his hand and yet... not   
as hot as it could've been.

"You're pretty good at biofeedback, I bet."

"Well, I've studied it for... years, Ray."

He'd stopped working his hand and earned a   
moment's hesitation. His mind provided an   
image of Fraser's body leaning in towards him,  
but he knew that wasn't real. 

"What happens when you stop?"

"Stop what?"

"Feedin' yourself. Staying calm and cool and   
in control."

"There's never any excuse --"

"Do you want me to hurt you?"

Sharp intake of breath. "Are you threatening   
me, Ray?" The edge of disappointment was   
perfect, just perfect.

"Nope. I'm asking you a yes or no question,   
Frase. Though I'm beginning to think you   
don't have the easiest time answering those."

"Just because a conversation does not proceed   
in the manner you wish it to is no reason to   
assume that the other person is incapable of --"

"Oh, I know yer capable. Couldn't feed yourself   
out of a hard-on, could ya?"

"The human body contains billions of   
nerve-endings. Their job is to respond to stimuli,   
and as I am a healthy and relatively young   
person they do their job quite well. You really   
shouldn't make assumptions based on   
autonomic response."

"You're right, of course. You're always right.   
That's one of the reasons I want you to fuck me.   
Just bend me right over and shove it in me. Way  
down deep and hard and fast until I can't see."

"Ray --"

"Or maybe you'd like to fuck my mouth? I talk   
too much, that's what my mom always said. You  
wanna fuck my smart mouth? Come down my   
throat? Show me what control tastes like?"

Fraser's mouth tightened to a single stern line.   
The only thing keeping his position from being   
a picture of rigidly controlled aggression was the   
way his hands were so carefully not fisted at his   
sides.

"Indecision can be a real painful thing there,   
Frase. Tell ya what, I'm gonna make it easy on   
ya."

For the first time in several long, long minutes  
Fraser deigned to meet his gaze again. Raised   
one eyebrow into a perfect arch. Halfway between  
schoolteacher and cynical old whore and Ray  
wondered how the other man would respond to   
*that* description...

"I will. See, I'm just gonna do what *I* want to do,  
and you can do whatever you want to do. Nobody  
ever said it had to be mutual, right?"

The eyebrow remained raised for another few   
moments and then slowly, deliberately, Fraser   
brought himself to attention. Eyes front, jaw   
squared, shoulders ruler straight and erection   
exquisitely ignored.

Ray allowed himself a moment to wonder who   
*could* have had Fraser tonight, and then   
allowed himself several more... Prick though he   
was, his body, his soul never got tired of the   
many ways Fraser could -- if he wanted -- be   
pleasured.

And then he walked over to the first double bed,   
the one just to the right of where Fraser stood   
and not-stared, and took off his clothes. Boots,   
then suspenders, then jeans, then socks, then shirt,   
then t-shirt, then, slowly, boxer-briefs. It took a   
lot not to bend himself more toward the other man,  
but he managed.

Before he forgot, he took the small tube out of his  
left front pocket and tossed it on the pillow he   
knew he wouldn't be using. Crawled up and then   
just relaxed on his knees for several breaths. 

Faced the wall, rested his palms on his thighs.   
Rolled his neck around and breathed some more.   
He was trying not to feel the weight of Fraser's gaze,   
because he knew it wasn't really there. 

But his cock was, right there. Hard, red idiot   
flesh, drooling and leaping for any caress at all.  
Pathetic. 

All his.

Ray gave it a light slap, then another. Jerked at   
his own touch and mmmed. The room was cool, and   
he could feel the difference between abused and   
not-abused flesh immediately. He slapped it again,   
and the sound made him almost *need* to look   
around... Almost.

He made a claw of his other hand and raked short  
nails over his nipple. Not as hard as it looked...   
Stella always used to freak out when he did stuff   
like this. Well, not the cock-slapping... her eyes   
used to glitter like a child's, like a bird's at   
something incomprehensible but so so shiny...   
Do it again, Ray... 

And he did. Once, twice, again, again, again, again   
and oh, God he was gasping every time now and   
he hadn't even remembered to listen for Fraser's   
reaction but fuck it *hurt* so much nothing like   
it and maybe...

He looked down and saw himself hesitate. Pull   
the blow. He was even redder now, and dark spots  
dotted the gaudy blue-green-burgundy-uglier   
green coverlet where his pre-come had had the   
time to really soak in.

He was sweating, he could smell himself. Harsh,   
but almost like what it would be at home. 

Ray licked his hands thoroughly. Not clean, but   
tasted all over. Sucked at his own wrists and   
wondered why he didn't do that more often. 

Bit one while stroking himself in what he liked to  
think of as his not-rhythm. Light-fast a few times,   
then slow, then harder, then faster, then lighter,   
then whatever he wanted least. Cruel cruel lover  
stroke.

Bit harder and moaned into his own flesh. 

If Ray drew blood Fraser would stop him. Would   
call his name again and again and the blood   
would tickle his chin and finally, finally Fraser   
would have to touch him. 

Or maybe just call room service. 

Ray laughed and released his wrist, brought the   
hand down to fondle his balls. Wondered if the   
jagged oval of his teeth would bruise and tried to   
stop thinking long enough to really feel what he   
was doing. 

Which worked for about a second and a half.

He was jerking himself off with his back to Fraser,  
his partner, who he had just unsuccessfully   
molested.

Wasn't even looking at the guy. 

Acting like he was ashamed. 

Of himself. Ashamed of himself and performing   
even though... even though he wasn't really like   
this. Yeah. He was doing this because he couldn't...   
because he wasn't *allowed* to do anything else.   
He wasn't good enough to touch anything but   
his own flesh.

He wasn't good enough, and if he couldn't do   
this right he would... he wouldn't get anything   
at all. The little warmth he was creating for   
himself would blow away and he'd sit here,  
awkward and hurting and so shamed.  
Worthless. 

And so damned hard.

"Ohhh..."

Ray flushed but didn't stop. Tugged on his   
tightening balls -- he couldn't make this too  
easy -- and ran his trigger callous over the   
pulsing vein along the underside of his cock.   
Twitched and moaned again, softer this time. 

And just like that he found himself *there*,   
in that groove he'd known for years and years.   
The closest thing he'd ever felt to it was his   
first ride on the Cyclone... visiting Uncle Mike  
way out East. Coney Island, just like the songs,  
only dirtier and shabbier and intoxicating as  
all hell.

And the car had ratcheted and groaned its way   
up that old wooden track, jerking back every  
now and again, creaking alarmingly... but there  
was never any doubt it'd get where it was going,  
whether you wanted it to or not. 

There was never any doubt that he wanted it. 

Ray gave himself a few more teasing strokes and  
then released himself utterly. The groan took his  
throat too fast for him to flush again, and he   
bent nearly double at the surprisingly intense   
*loss* of it. 

When he could breathe, he slicked his right   
hand mechanically. Methodically. Real real   
careful and thorough. The lube was still warm   
from its time in his pocket -- warm enough,   
anyway -- and Ray didn't bother trying to warm   
it up anymore.

Reached back and gave the sensitive flesh in   
his cleft one fast swipe. Felt his cock twitch and  
grinned and did it again and again. The first   
solid thrust of his hips cracked his back a little  
and all of a sudden he couldn't stop thrusting,  
even though the immediate need had lessened   
with familiarity. Just movement was enough,   
sometimes.

The next time his teasing finger reached the   
tight ring of muscle he pushed himself back on   
it. Rough and just as shocking as he wanted it   
to be, almost, almost providing the ridiculous   
notion that he was tearing himself in two.

When he could do that to his mind with just   
one finger it was a victory, and the prize was   
not to wait, not to prepare and oh *God* the   
next finger might really *have* torn   
something.

On someone who didn't do this as often as he   
did.

And he laughed again and gave himself a   
heartbeat to wonder, idly, what Fraser thought  
of the sound. Grinned to himself and for no one  
but himself as he arched himself backward a   
little.

Just enough to make this easier. 

And then enough to make it hotter.

An image of himself, stretched taut into a curve  
just this side of unnatural, mouth open, skin   
flushed, cock jutting and moving with his own   
movements as he fucked himself precisely the   
way he wanted to.

Oh yeah.

And finally there was nothing stopping him   
from taking hold of his cock again but the   
need to give each nipple one rough, awkward   
twist, to dip his finger into his navel and twist  
it into a hook of shockingly indescribable   
sensation.

So he did, and he choked it. Thrust in and back   
and in and back until the lube started actually   
making a difference and then he did it faster. His   
fingers hurt a little from the way he was bearing   
down, but his cock didn't care and he didn't care   
and Fraser had to be watching and even if he   
wasn't watching he could hear this. Smell this.   
Probably feel each cresting wave of Ray's arousal   
slap him in the face again and again --

"Oh, God, please --"

Ray came all over his hand and belly, a miniature  
geyser hot as blood and much thicker. Heavy   
cream pain dirty please please Fraser pain and he   
fell back, limber as he needed to be, ankles   
brushing the muscles of his back. 

Eyes closed.

When he could, he rolled off the bed. Didn't bother   
to hide the shake in his tortured knees, didn't look   
all the way up until he was close enough to   
Fraser's stupidly gaping shirt to see the   
buttonholes as more than a blur. 

Watched what was, perhaps, the fifth or sixth tear  
roll down the other man's blankly noble face. The   
tracks were too even to be very old.

Gathered two fingers-full of come from his belly   
and wiped it slowly, deliberately over the rose-red  
mouth. Licked it off with one swipe.

Some of it. 

And then Ray scooped up his clothes and walked   
slowly, evenly through the connecting doors into   
his own room, and did not wait for anything.

end.


End file.
